When You Hear the Cries and You Go Forward

Originally published Friday, 22 August 2014.

It's not too late--we hear the whisper. It's not too late to dig in, do the hard work. Let that heart of yours go and relax and believe.

We read the news and watch the reports. The photos our eyes and heart scarcely comprehend. The information stirs us up, incredulous. Are we shocked, perhaps, into waking? Do we raise up these heads and lift up these hands and refuse to give in--give in to lack of hope?

We are each called to stand. We are each called to love. We are each called to do the work of serving, with our Savior's hand clasped in our own. We are each called to be who we are made to be. And that looks different for each of us.

Loving neighbors, widows, orphans, sisters, brothers, looks different for you. It looks different for me.

But, no matter how we are called to love, oh, girl, let's do anything but sit down.

I trudged through beauty the last two weeks. It was the kind of beauty where light sparkles on snow in summer sun and children laugh because they can; because they are free. They know it. They know freedom, and they live it. And I am free, and I forget it.

I forget to live in the abundance of wild heart dancing under blue, cloud-fluffed skies. I forget to live even though I am lonely. I forget to live in the freedom for which my Savior died.

There are children dying, being killed, and I trudge through beauty and I wonder if I see. There are sisters and brothers and children martyred for their faith, and I forget I am free.

Sister, we are  rescued so we can rescue. We are rescued, so let us not be overwhelmed; let us not forget why He came. Let us not be completely overwhelmed by the darkness of this world. Let us not simply weep or resign ourselves to mourning. We are living freedom. 

Does it look like it?

We are daughters who wear a crown and who wear His shield of protection as we fight, as we go forward, as we refuse to be resigned and we do the things we can never do on our own. But first, my sisters, we pray.

We pray for what feels impossible, because, in all things, God is possible. We pray for hope and healing and hearts of evil turned completely inside out. God, we want heaven on earth.

We want your reign to come. We want your daughters and sons to cry freedom and go forward and ask you what it is you ask them to do as your children suffer, as your children cry and despair and die. Father, we want a world turned upside down, in your name.

What is it you ask us to do?

Love you with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength. Love others as much as we love ourselves.

The landscape of wild Alaska took me away from the news, from the twitter feeds and status updates. I went away for awhile and I stood upon glaciers and climbed mountains and bushwhacked paths through forest and got nervous when we were close to the bears. My children hiked and explored from morning to night.  We talked with our friends and stayed up too late and slept peacefully in still mountain night. I realize how my heart was resting. And how I don't deserve rest. And I don't deserve life. And I don't deserve this peace and freedom and hope. I don't deserve laughter and joy and contentment and even this questioning, wandering heart.

But I am loved. God loves me so.

And because of His love--which makes whether or not we deserve anything the furthest from the  point--I can rescue.

You are loved. So you can awake. You are loved, so you can go forward, asking who you are made to be, how, specifically, this day, you are called to love, how you are called to fight, how you are made to stand tall for freedom.

Because we are loved, we have freedom. Because we are loved, we trust His good more than ourselves. Because we are loved, we awake. Because we are loved, we step forward. We rescue.

We rescue in His name.

The cries are heard far and wide. Father, we are here. Help us join you--and rescue.

How might God be asking you to clasp tight to His hand right now, on behalf of the cries He wants you to hear?

This post was first published at You Are My Girls.